The Enemy Within
by Dakoyone
Summary: I can't sleep. The shadows are growing darker, and the demons are dancing in my dreams again.


_A/N: To celebrate Dream Theater's newly released album, I decided to write something. No, I don't sleep. Whatever gave you that idea? I also left the "Characters" tab empty because...well, you'll see…_

_Disclaimer: Dragon Age is the property of Bioware: Division of EA, and "The Enemy Inside" is from Dream Theater's new album "Dream Theater"._

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The Enemy Inside

To a normal person, I suppose it would seem unnatural to wake up in a pool of your own sweat, your entire body rigid as your mind recalls the dream that startled you awake in the first place. I've gotten used to it though. I've even conditioned myself to not wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Now if only I could figure out a solution to the occasional bedwetting issue…

I sigh heavily. I couldn't have been asleep for more than two hours. So much for trying to work off all excess energy in attempt to get a good night's rest. The ground is tilting. I probably shouldn't have sat up so quickly. What day is it anyway? Ahh, no wonder… I laugh with little mirth, and the hollow sound echoes against the stone walls of the room, causing the other occupants to stir but not waken. The guards posted out in the hall probably hear me, but I don't care. Most people already think I've gone barmy anyway; what are one or two more guards?

The muscles in my arms and back are sore from the day's dueling sessions. I'd like to say that my partners are friends of mine, but I've never really spoken to them. There aren't very many people who'd willingly make friends with a freak like me. You'd think that after five years, everything would go back to normal. Truth is, it won't. It's been so long, and I still can't look an elf in the eye. I keep my vision firmly on the ground when I pass by a guard, and on the rare occasion where I do get a chance to go home, escorted of course, I always, always avoid the welcoming hall.

I don't talk to anyone if I can help it, least of all my family. That's right, I have a younger sister now. My parents certainly didn't waste any time. I remember how shocked and afraid they were when my reaction to seeing four year old Anna doing cartwheels and handstands was to scream and sputter, hissing and pointing at her as if she were possessed. That did not go well at all. Anna's still terrified of me. Since then Mother's always stood protectively between her and myself, and the occasions where I can return home are now few and far in between. It hurt then, but I've long since stopped caring.

_You need only wish her dead. Then your mother will love you again._

That voice again. I glare at nothing in particular, and I feel my hands clenching into the sheets. It hasn't left me alone, not completely. Despite the new environment, the new faces, and the new...status, the whisperings of promises persisted throughout the years. When I'm _really _tired, which is most of the time (demons aren't known to grant you a peaceful sleep), I also see things, mostly in the shadows, sometimes out of the corner of my eye. They just stand there, waiting. I know better than to approach them, and they know better than to think that I'm as vulnerable as I once was. Still I hate how their presences make me all jumpy and edgy. It usually takes a good three days before I snap and have an "episode". The first time it happened, it took three guards to bring me down...and that was after I had somehow managed to cut off Erin's pointed ears. I don't remember it happening, but I do remember seeing her at the healer's afterward, linen bandages wrapped around her head. Yeah, I'm not...I _know_ that I'm touched in the head. You needn't remind me.

No one here likes me and for good reason. I'm volatile, and people often look at me with pity, or fear, or even hate, as if I'm the same as the very demon that once possessed me. Despite that, they've also stuck me in a room filled with other people my age, all of whom could easily be taken down in the middle of one of my anger fits. That's probably why the templars are posted just outside the door rather than patrolling the halls like all the other templars. I swear, those templars are Smite-happy. They'd Smite me if I just stare at them oddly. I could just kill them all.

But there was that voice again, and this time it's laughing in triumph. So I force myself to pull the cork on the rage I feel rising up within me and dispel it with a significant shudder. Breathe in, breathe out…

I am calm.

"Can't sleep?"

The voice is soft and soothing, but I jump anyway, wide eyes swinging over to stare at the person standing beside my bed. She is called Senior Enchanter Amell here and the Hero of Ferelden throughout the rest of Thedas. My mouth opens and shuts as I am unable to even acknowledge her query.

"Me too." She seats herself comfortably in the armchair beside my bed, an action speaking of habit. Somehow, and I'm sure I'll figure it out one day, she always seems to know when I'm troubled, and she always listens carefully whenever I do manage to talk about what happened back then. Can you believe that, out of a Circle Tower of nearly two hundred mages and around a hundred templars, Solona Amell is the _only_ person who doesn't see me as a monster? Perhaps it helps that she herself was the one to pull me out from the demon's grasp...and save my father...as well as all of Redcliffe...and Ferelden, but that's just looking at it from a general perspective. The point is that she understands and does not judge me for it. If it weren't for her presence here, I probably would've...no, that's too depressing a thought to even continue.

Many of the other apprentices pester her constantly about her adventures with her companions and her fights against the darkspawn, but she usually just frowns, her eyes distant, and doesn't reply. I heard that she was really close to the other Warden, but he had thrown himself forward, sacrificing himself in her place in order to end the Blight. Sometimes we see her drifting aimlessly down the halls, her eyes glassy, passing through doorways with an arm waving before her face, as if lifting a tent flap that isn't really there. It's as if she's constantly trapped in her own worst memories.

And I thought I had problems.

"It's not your fault, you know," I blink, surprised at the words that flew out of my mouth without a single thought. She looks just as startled for a moment, but then her face softens into a gentle smile. These are words that she often said to me in my darkest moments, and this is the first time I'd ever uttered them to her.

"Thank you, Connor."

So here we are, sitting in comfortable silence, Trevor's snoring at the other end of the room not bothering either of us one bit. We're both trapped in memories that we can't escape, each facing our own demons, our enemy inside.

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_A/N: I realize that sooner or later, I'm going to have to let up from all of these borderline angsty fanfics that I'm churning out. I have my...happy moments. I really do. It's just that nothing "happy" wants to manifest itself in my writing at the moment._


End file.
